


All Hallows

by IndigoJones, sybilius



Series: Holidays at Wammy's [1]
Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note: Another Note
Genre: A truly terrifying use of spiders, B is a decent headmaster tbh, B is shipping Matt and Mello, Crushing, Fluff, Implied Relationships, M/M, Multi, Police officers, Pranking, Pumpkin carving, Secret Shinigami Exchange 2016, Semi-Graphic description of cannibalism, Wammy's Era, Wendigo Story, ghost story, halloween fic, juvenile delinquency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 10:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8441470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoJones/pseuds/IndigoJones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sybilius/pseuds/sybilius
Summary: Christmas is something at the Wammy’s house, for sure, but it’s Halloween that brings the ghosties and ghoulies out. That’s why Matt likes it.





	

Christmas is something at the Wammy’s house, for sure, but it’s Halloween that brings the ghosties and ghoulies out. That’s why Matt likes it. It’s the morning of Halloween, and he and Mello are conspiring in the top bunk of their room, putting the final touches on their pranks this year.

“I think we oughta put fake spiders in Roger’s office.” Matt drawls, after they had already decided which house should be egged in Winchester. It’s a different one every year, and this year they’ve taken time to dye the inside of the eggs red.

“I think we oughta put real spiders in, go all the way, you know?” Mello tugs his knees close to himself, “Besides, I know where we can get ‘em. There’s a nest out in the forest.”

“Put them in his sugar-bowl?”

“You’re a mad genius, Matt,” Mello smiles, and it’s like the sunshine against his long blonde hair.

Matt likes it when Mello smiles.

In fact, he rather likes it when a lot of the kids at Wammy’s smile. Which is why after breakfast, he mumbles to Mello about needing something to do, then takes off to the drawing room that’s usually so quiet, despite the fact that there’s almost always someone there.

“Hey, Near.” Matt sits cross-legged on the floor next to the castle made of wooden bricks. Near isn’t visible but a block is slid open from the side, revealing Near’s piercing eyes.

“Hello, Matt.”

“You gonna go trick-or-treating with us? Or pranking?”

“I don’t think it would be advisable, no.”

“Why not?” Matt tilts his head. He kinda knows why, rather, that Mello can be a right arsehole when he wants to be. But holidays are special, and Mell knows that. Or if he doesn’t, Matt will make it so he knows, “Mell will be nice, promise.”

“Normally that kind of good behavior is reserved only for Christmastime. Besides, I don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of Mello’s pranks.”

Matt opens his mouth, realises he doesn’t really have a reply to that and was is saved by the heavy chimes of the Wammy House doorbell.

“Maybe I should see who is at the door.”

By the time Matt makes his way to the hallway, Linda is already showing in two stout police officers; balding black male early forties, blonde mid-thirties white female, their radios dimly crackling. Both hold their hats politely in their hands. Linda puts on her best face and ushers them onto the uncomfortable high-backed chairs in the hallway, before turning her back to them and flashing a face of fury to Matt.

“Could you get Mr Ruive for our guests,” she says like milk, even though her cheeks are burning red, then under her breath, eyes narrowing, “What has he done now?”

Matt gives a faint shrug and look of confusion which seemed to mollify Linda, a little. All in all he is glad to make his retreat up the staircase and stand in front of the heavy, oak paneled door.

Three knocks and nothing.

Three more.

“Is it urgent?”

Not Mr Ruvie.

“I’m looking for Roger. The police are here.”

“He’s not here. Emergency root canal. Had to take the day off.”

Matt waits politely for a few more minutes. He thinks it’d be stupid to knock again.

“The police are still here, B.”

Even the oak door does not muffle the curses, or the sound of drawers being frantically opened and shut, particularly well.

“Okay, come in.”

B is all casual pose behind Rogers desk, big feet up on the desktop and slouchy like he was starring in some designer perfume ad. Matt looks down at the leather desktop; relay eqipment, microphones, Mr Wammy's video camera. Looks like B had been in the middle of a video call. A half empty jar of chocolate orange marmalade obscures Wammy’s framed face.

“Who is in charge then?”

B looks at Matt. Matt knows about the creepy eye thing because Mello had told him, and Matt had told Near and he was sure Near had passed the message on to Linda, so it was like a lot of stuff in Wammy’s house that everybody knew but was never officially stated, like not waking L up ever or never taking the last pot of jam in the kitchen. Still it was a little disconcerting when he stared at you and you knew he was looking at the day you die.

Or maybe in this case, just hoping someone else would deal with it. B looks at the clock. 8.32am. The teaching staff would not be in for at least another half an hour. That was one of the more civilised things about Wammy House, how you could tell it was a proper school for geniuses, lessons started at 10am at the earliest not to disadvantage anyone who had been up late last night composing a sonata.

B looks back at Matt.

“I am.” B takes a long drag on his Marlboro before stubbing it in out Roger's aspidistra.

Matt nods solemnly.

“You are in charge?”

“Yes.”

Matt itches the awkward place beneath his goggles where the sweat always tickles.

“Well in that case I’d pull your trousers up and come down to meet the Officers.”

B looks down. A line of orange lace pumpkins protrude from the waistband of his jeans. He quickly adjusts himself and stands up.

“Alright, let’s go meet the Feds.”

Matt smiles and follows him obediently down the stairs.

“Will L be joining us later?”`

B shrugs his shoulders, “Well, he’s about a three hour flight away, so maybe, maybe not. I don’t keep tabs on him.”

Matt is far to polite to snort. Even very quietly.

In fairness to Beyond Birthday, Matt thinks, he handles the two Police Officers very well, warmly greeting them as Officer Clayton and Officer Sullivian although neither have mentioned their names. He offers them tea, which is what English people do, despite being (probably) American. Neat trick, Matt thinks as he is dispatched to the kitchen, brushing off a bouncing Linda with a brief  “I don’t know yet.”

On returning with the tray; teapot, tea cups, little crocheted doilies over the milk and sugar-bowls, maximum intimidation, Matt finds B making a considering face while reading two pages of standard A4 photocopy paper. B whisks out an occasional table, there was always an occasional table to hand at Wammy’s, enabling Matt to put the tea-tray of terror down. Officer Clayton visibly flinched. B took advantage of the close proximity of Matt to whisper: “Get Mello.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

“Find him.”

“It’s not like I keep tabs on him, you know.”

Matt heads off in the direction of the area last occupied by Mello, just about catching Beyond Birthday snort.

*

It turns out Mello is not in their room and his jacket is missing, which means he is almost certainly already out on spider-quest. As Matt reaches for his own coat and wellingtons he realises he would have prefered not to have seen the spider’s nest in person. Spiders singular, he’s cool with; he’s even handled a tarantula during a lesson on naturally occurring poisons, but he’s not at all sure about a lot of spiders all up in one another’s business. Baby spiders squishing about out of webbing is certainly not something he was cool with.

Still, Mello is cool with it, so that means gameface.  

After only a brief tussle with Linda on the formal lawns, "I don't know anything - I'm going to get him", it doesn’t take long for Matt to find the streak of gold amid the turning oranges and browns of the forest. Mello is on his knees in the leaf litter, staring fascinated at the underside of an overturned log. So far, so good.

Mello reaches into the leaves and pinches out three furry little egg-sacs from which baby spiders are just beginning to emerge. With bare-hands. Not good. Matt watches the ivy swing gently in the breeze for a few moments to get his head together.

“Mello?”

“What?”

Oh great. Mello shouting at him while shoveling a handful of egg sacks into a cardboard box.

“Roger’s off sick.”

“Fucker,” Mello says, going back for another grab.

“So maybe we don’t need the spiders?”

“Waste not, want not. We can put them in the dinner instead.”

“We have to eat that.”

“We can put it in something we don’t like.”

Mello still has an accent and the way he says some words makes Matt feel a little lightheaded. It’s kind of cute, in a weird way. Unfortunately, he is also a massive dick at least eighty five percent of the time which rather ruins the effect most days.

“Also, the police are here to arrest you.”

For a moment, Mello freezes, then he turns to look at Matt and - _smiles._

That smile never makes Matt happy.

*

“You see boys, this is a very serious matter.” PC Sullivan addresses the two up-faced boys, both wearing looks of deep contrition and humility. Matt even removed his goggles. He eyes the abandoned pink china tea cup, noting with satisfaction the splash of black tea that indicated defeat with the milk jug and sugar tongs, “The town council has gone to court, the Magistrates court, mind you, and has been granted an Anti-Social Behaviour Order.

Mello nods. A small stream of spiders starts to trickle from under his hair.

“Preventing you - due to your prior behaviour, your evidenced prior behaviour - and may I take this opportunity to remind you fireworks are not toys and are illegal in the hands of minors.”

Matt notices B nodding along solemnly, he’s clocked the first spider crawling out of Mello’s barely parted lips.

“Preventing you from any activity classed as ‘trick or treating’, the wearing of costumes designed to intimidate, the possession of volatiles and missiles including specifically fireworks and eggs.”

PC Clayton screams. Mello’s right hand is now a squirming forest of tiny legs. Wow, Matt thinks, the coca-cola trick worked. Then also ewwww.

PC Sullivan turns to look at his colleague. PC Clayton tries her best to look non-plussed but her eyes were bulging. A steady stream of spiders make their way out of Mello’s mouth, hair and left nostril. “Continue,” PC Clayton squeaks.

“As likely to cause harassment, alarm or distress to one or more persons not of your immediate household, for the period of one year starting from today, 31st October -, are you alright Constable Clayton?”

Constable Clayton is not alright. She is so not alright Matt is fearing for her bladder. At least she isn’t on the upholstered chairs. A fresh army of spiders is slowly moving upwards along Mello’s neck. His face is more spiderling than Mello. They’re crawling over his eyelids. Matt deliberately unfocuses his eyes.

“Fine.”

“Or face further action from the Juvenile Court of Winchester. Sign to confirm understanding here.”

Matt waits. PC Sullivan roots in his bulgy pockets for a moment before picking out a pen.

Three, counts Matt.

Two.

One.

He holds the pen out, expecting to see a hand. He sees spiders.

Baby spiders, dropping from the fingers on to the neat white sheet of the Order. He looks up. No face. Just spiders. Matt watches as his brain registers exactly what his eyes are witnessing.

Another spider emerges from Mello’s nostril.

PC Sullivan screams. He screams like he’s having involuntary surgery. It goes on for a long time.

“Oh dear," says B, "Another episode. Please excuse us, Jane, William - I think we are first name terms now, and let me deal with this."

Both officers are now on their feet, gratefully letting B shepherd them towards the door.

"Just leave a copy. Oh, you already have done. Good, I’ll get them to sign it,”

The officers nod mutely, still staring at the the sqirming morass of Mello.

"Oh, and Officer Clayton," says B, holding the door open with a smile, "Do be careful on April 21st next year."

A small cloud of spiders takes to the air as Mello gasps. Matt holds his breath.

The door closes.

"Did you just...," squeaks Matt.

B turns slowly and - _smiles._

Matt hopes Mello is not picking up tips.

"Nah," says B, "I'm messing with her. I hate the Feds. Incompetent, most of 'em."

Okay, so Matt's still maximum creeped out. B takes the opportunity to thrust Mello practically into him. Now Matt's creeped and just got his lifetime limit on spiders exceeded, thank you. It does mean that Matt and Mello get to shower the bastard things off together; after the little bodies had gone down the blessed plughole, its not that bad. Matt scrubs Mello’s hair extra carefully to make sure all the spiders are gone. That part isn’t bad at all.

Afterwards, Mello is all good smiles and they get to go to Roger’s office with their own spoons and eat chocolate orange marmalade without the inconvenience of toast.

“Are you going to stick to it?” B says.

“Yes,” Matt replies adamantly. Radio silence from Mello, which leads to B giving him one of his I know the day you die stares.

“Because I think, Roger is recovering from major dental surgery. It would be a shame to trouble him with this.”

Matt nods. Mello takes another spoonful of jam, affecting nonchalance but getting with the program, Matt can tell. He can tell things like that about Mello, alright?

“So you two stick to it, and I put Roger’s health and wellbeing first.”

They nod.

“Understood?”

B had made deals with Mafia cartels and stuff so he was kind of hard not to do a deal with.

“Understood.” Mello says.

“Understood,” Matt echoes. B doesn’t do too bad a job as headmaster, all things considered.

*

The pumpkin carving in the kitchen is always a mess, but luckily fights with the seeds have long since been banned with strict consequences of no candy. Everyone works busily on gutting their pumpkin, the thick smell of earthy gourd seeping its way through the kitchen. Even among the younger children, most of them have an uncanny ability to handle knives, though Matt takes the time to help Near gut his.

B also helps with prepping the pumpkins for the smaller kids, passing out a few midsized gourds. He keeps a sharp eye on the ones who _think_ they can handle the knives, and stages more than a few interventions. He’s more fun than Roger at running this, in any case, even if it’s less orderly.

“I can do the carving part,” Near says quietly, one finger twirling around his hair, “I just don’t like the texture of the insides.”

“I know,” Matt smiles, showing the partially dug out pumpkin to Near, “I've got it. I’m glad you’re here.”

“It’s alright. Thanks for making me come.”

Mello, on the other side of the table, can’t hear their conversation, but shoots Matt a smouldering glare of jealousy from the other side of the table. Matt rolls his eyes internally, but sets the knife down on the table. 

“Can you take it from here? I don’t wanna start a riot,” He passes the now-clean pumpkin to Near, who nods  with a sad smile. From across the table, B snorts a little watching Matt cross behind him to the other side of the table.

“What?” Matt sizes up his fond-looking gaze.

“Just, some things never change. Be nice to Mello, kay?”

“Always am.” Matt nods seriously.

“I know.” B’s alright, Matt decides. Even if he does treat all the kids like they could get out there and become L’s right-hand immediately. And even if he does look like the grim reaper scanning your forehead.

He knows what’s up.

“Hey, Mell. Nice sheep.” It’s so clearly a caricature of Near, but Matt doesn’t comment on that. The curly horns with the curly hair, and Mello has taken care to give it a particularly annoyed expression.

“Have you even _started_ carving anything yet?” Mello says through gritted teeth, and Matt can just hear the bitterness there waiting to turn into an accusation. But Mell knows he doesn’t take sides on holidays. That’s just that.

  
Matt shrugs, “I dunno that I could do anything as good as yours.”

“What’s the bighead up to anyways?” Mello asks contemptuosly, but relents, passing Matt a knife and a fresh pumpkin.

“Dunno, but I hope everyone carves something cool. I guess I’ll do a skeleton.”

There’s so much chaos that in carving his pumpkin, Matt almost misses the hunched form that slips into the room next to B, wide, dark-scarred eyes scanning the room with a tiny smile.

Matt doesn’t, however, miss B grabbing L’s ass when he thinks none of the kids are looking. Oh, correction, B winks at him roguishly when he sees him staring. B does a small nod towards Mello, then winks at Matt again, and he blushes crimson.

Yeah, B knows what’s up.

*

The pumpkins get lined up along the window of the saloon, while the other kids excitedly get dressed up. Mello fumes a little, but Near retreats to his room, so he settles for loudly denouncing the police with Matt. The other kids have to give him a little respect, as the one whose pranks are so notorious, the police got involved.

But they’re still going to get candy. And here Matt is, stuck with his delinquent best friend, the Wammy’s house ghoul, the greatest detective who ever lived, and the quiet boy who might be his friend.

It’s not all bad, really.

“Alright, delinquents and recluses, come over here with me. That includes you, Lev,” B smiles at L from across the room. B lights a fire in the saloon and puts out a bowl of Haribo candies, promising them a ghost story while the others are out trick-or-treating.

Mello frowns a little less. Matt knows how he looks up to B, in a peculiar way. Which makes sense, B is class-A trouble, like Mello is always trying to be.

But underneath all that, Mello still wants to be L more than he wants to be B. Funny how those things work out. Matt pushes that thought to the back of his mind as L squats next to B, picking up a handful of Haribo cherries. B quirks a wicked smile and starts the story.

“So you’re in a wandering tribe. It’s cold up north. Cold as it gets. You don’t eat, you don’t survive, that’s it. And it’s a long winter, starting early in October,” Beyond shades his eyes, and Matt shivers a little thinking about what those eyes can hide, “It’s getting dark too soon, and your tribe hasn’t seen the elk you’ve been hunting for more than a few days.”

“There’s a story about an evil spirit in the tribe-- and I ain’t lying about this, you ask the Cree, the Ojibwe in America, they’ll tell you. I got this story from a guy who’s Cree himself, worked with him for a case, Anyways, that’s another story. The evil spirit they talk about-- They call it the Wendigo. Grey skin, all thin rotting flesh over bones, lips always painted with blood. It’s half-man, half-monster, and it’s a spirit that takes hold of you. When a Wendigo starts to shadow you, you get hungry. Hungry for human flesh.”

“Is it really a ghost, or are you just hungry?” Mello buts in, and B holds up a hand.

“Look, do you wanna hear the ghost story or not?”

“Fine, fine.” Mello takes a voracious bite of the chocolate.

“So it’s been a long few days on the trail with your partner. As the temptation to satiate your hunger grows stronger and stronger, you start feel the shadow of the Wendigo looming over you. Your hands are moving for your bow without you knowing. But you know when you release the arrow, just as he turns to look at you. _SWIP_. Right in the throat.”

“There’s more blood than you expect, all over the goddamn snow. The Wendigo is whispering in your ear to _feast_ , but you can’t quite make yourself do it. He wasn’t your friend, this guy. You didn’t even like him much. But _eating him?_ So you carve him up first, bury his bones carefully, and store the meat in a sack where no one can find it. You tell yourself you won’t eat it.”

“But you’re _so_ hungry. And so is the Wendigo in your ear. So even as you tell the tribe fucking tragic stories about your partner tumbling off a cliff, the lie on your tongue is just waiting for the taste of _flesh._ ”

It’s so captivating, and mildly terrifying, that even Mello doesn’t notice when Near takes a quiet seat on the couch behind them. Matt smiles at him, just a little. Near smiles back. B pauses to wink again, which makes Mello squint a little, but it could also be a reference to something in the story. Matt knows better though.

“So that night, you sneak out to your frozen stash, led by the light of the Wendigo in your eyes. Leaving the tribe at night is usually considered a death sentence, but the ache in your stomach feels worse than death now. You light up a fire with flint and stones.”

“You cook his liver first.”

“Why his liver?” Near asks quietly, wrinkling his nose a bit.

“Vitamin C,” Mello grunts, but doesn’t add the usual _dumbass_ at the end. It’s nice.

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that,” in a miracle Matt wouldn’t have even attributed to Christmas, Near slides down off the couch to sit next to them. Mello doesn’t even act like an ass when Near reaches for the candy.

“It looks the most edible, how’s that?” B suggests, a smile playing on his lips, “Anyways, you cook it and eat it whole. And _god_ , it tastes like food, and you haven’t felt like this for, I don’t know? Feels like years since the summer. You cook some of his thighs too, then store the rest of it for later.”

“But the tribe moves on, and you’re getting hungrier. That’s the thing about the Wendigo...everything you eat only makes you want _more_. So of course, you have to kill again. This time, you don’t even bother with the fire, just take it raw and throw the corpse off the cliff. You have to stay careful for the third, you end up stalking two of them at once. And slowly, your tribe starts to dwindle in number. They realize what you are, but hunger has made them too weak to hunt you. They’re just meat for the taking of the Wendigo.”

“After a month of starving and feasting in a frenzy that doesn’t feel like living anymore, there’s only one man left in your tribe. While you’re hunting him, the last living member of your tribe, you pass a lake on a clear, moonlit night. You catch sight of your companion, the Wendigo in the reflection of the lake. Grotesque, swollen eyes and bloody lips, bones all in view and barely human. You move a little closer, trying to catch sight of yourself, behind him. He won’t move out of the way. You fall to your knees, scrabbling at the reflection in the icy water when you realize.”

“There’s no one there. No one. You are the Wendigo now.”

“So it _wasn’t_ really a ghost. I knew it!” Mello’s smugness is so complete that even Matt has to punch him on the shoulder.

“Eh, our own ghosts have a way of getting to us, and all that shit, Mello.” B has a slightly haunted look in his eyes, but it vanishes when a smile cracks out over his face.

“It was a good story,” Matt says evenly, observing the way L’s face seems just as haunted as B’s for a moment. B nudges him with a shoulder, passing him some more Haribo candy.

“Thanks. Just a story, is all. Mainly meant to discourage cannibalism,” B chews on the candy, leaning into L just a litte, “Tends to be bad for overall tribe health.”

“Mello, why don’t you tell one next.” L says gently, much to Mello’s utter delight.

They take turns until the fire dies and Matt feels himself falling into sleep on Mello’s shoulder. Even Near has a decent tale, which Mello, miraculously shuts up for, though it might be because L is giving him that fish-eyed stare that’s almost worse than B’s death glare.

  
They’re a spooky bunch, really. Even Matt. But perhaps that’s why Halloween brings them together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> We co-wrote this as a gift for Secret Shinigami and quite liked how it turned out. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it!


End file.
